


Another Place

by r_mikaelis



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Animal Death, Bonding, F/M, Implied Carmilla/Hector, Implied Hector/Lenore, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It was canon compliant when I wrote it, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rescue, Self-Harm, Slavery, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Wet Dream, but also animal resurrection very soon after don’t worry, not necessarily a fun ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_mikaelis/pseuds/r_mikaelis
Summary: Isaac finds a blue eyed monster amongst his hordes and is assured of one thing— Hector lives. He seeks out his old ally in the hopes of convincing him to join his quest to create a pure world. But what is there left of the captured forgemaster to convince?What could the two of them create together in another time, another place?
Relationships: Carmilla/Hector (Castlevania), Hector/Isaac Laforeze, Hector/Lenore (Castlevania)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 145





	1. Divide

He had always needed him.

Jarring. That was how Isaac would have described the feeling of seeing a blue eyed night creature attacking his own abhorrent creations.

He had no fear seeing it there. Though the beast was strong, it was hopelessly outnumbered. No real match for his army.

Nor could Isaac say he was very surprised. He doubted Hector had died. He had always seen his fellow general as being too coward to die fighting, but just a bit too self aware to fall prey to some sort of accident. No, he had to be living, and it was only a matter of time before one found the other.

There was no point in remaining separate. Cancelling each other out.

Isaac held up his hand. Sensing his will, the creatures ceased their mauling of the once vicious outsider. Isaac walked toward the night creature, which was panting, trembling, upon the ground. It looked toward Isaac.

“Go home. Return to your master.”

Surrounded by death, it had no choice but to obey. It staggered to its weakened legs and spread its wings, utilizing the only existent escape route— an aerial one. Isaac looked heavenward, watching it chart its instinctual path.

“We follow,” he ordered. 

Yes. He needed all the souls in hell at his command. And Hector could help to bring them to the earth more quickly.

Weeks passed as Isaac followed that creature. They were not fruitless. At least, not to him. If they stopped to rest within range of any settlements, Isaac would take the opportunity to add a few more to his numbers.

It was a wise decision. Hector could have an army, too. Hector could have a plan.

Isaac doubted the latter. Even in the wake of Dracula’s death, he could not fathom Hector to be the scheming sort. At worst, Hector would be working at the behest of another. Carmilla, perhaps. They had always seemed rather close. And this creature seemed to be leading them northward, toward her territory.

As they travelled northward still, Isaac became more bold in his forging, killing more people and more often, and expending more energy to forge more powerful creatures. Battling Godbrand had been simple, for he had been a simple man. This vampire was an entirely different animal. But once she was dealt with, then he would have Hector. Another simple man, easy to kill, certainly, but to Isaac what was more important was that he was easy to convince.

And once the convincing was complete, he would have the power to set the world to rights. To make it all pure.

Hector was not working for Carmilla. It was impossible.

The night creature had collapsed in the woods, late one evening, and expired. Isaac had marched a few more days in what he assumed to be the correct direction and found Carmilla’s castle. But it had to have been an incorrect assumption. 

Perhaps Hector was living somewhere nearby. He would have to check the peripheral areas, after he finished storming this castle. 

Overwhelming Carmilla had been the right tactic. She was strong, but the majority of her strength lay in her nimbleness, her ability to navigate and dominate space. In an enclosed castle chamber, surrounded by monsters, that advantage was no longer viable.

She had wounded Isaac with her horrible claws. Pinned him. Attempted to drink from the wound. Make herself stronger before she finished him off. But Isaac’s creatures threw their weight atop her, crushing their master as well, but stunning Carmilla enough for him to get his dagger hand free and finish the job.

Her generals were scattering, and the ones that were brave enough to stay fought like human commoners compared to Carmilla. Soon enough, the castle was silent. In triumph, Isaac took time to roam it. A rest might be nice, along with a bath, and some time to treat his wounds. Isaac found that there were plenty of lavish rooms in which to do just that. 

Before slipping into a dreamless sleep, he planned to go to the dungeons. Perhaps there were humans down there, livestock, who he could use to replenish his army, which had taken a reasonable amount of casualties. And after that, he would search the surrounding villages for Hector.

There was no way he could say no. Isaac would not let him say no.

The dungeons were a sickening sight. Isaac made a mental note to whip himself later for the depravity seen in that horrible basement.

Every human there was pale and weak. Carmilla had taken blood from each of them, more than they could bear. That alone would be bad enough, to be kept in a cage and to be regularly robbed of vitality.

But the more attractive prisoners— males, mostly, but some females— they were kept naked. And their lower backs and stomachs, their upper legs and their buttocks, were all littered in the same claw marks that now scored Isaac’s own chest.

Most of the time, when Isaac killed, he saw it as punishment. Punishment for all the wrongs of humanity. 

But for these wounded souls, he saw it as a mercy.

Isaac went from cell to cell. He would seize the key that would be on a ring just out of arms reach of the cell, open the door, and craft a new creature, over and over, down the line. 

None of them begged for their lives. Like him, they saw this act as deliverance.

At the end of the line of cells, something caught Isaac’s eye. Instead of there being one ring to hold a key, there were two. There was a long strip of leather tied to the second, which extended into the cell. Curious, Isaac peered in.

There was a human inside. Frightened. They could see Isaac staring through the bars, and sank deeper into the shadows, hiding. The strip of leather shifted with the figure. Some sort of leash, then? That was certainly unique. Disgusted, Isaac wondered if this had been the vampires’ favorite toy. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Before entering, he untied the leather from the ring and kept it in his hand, desiring to keep the human from evading their fate any longer.

The human tried again to move away from him, but Isaac was tired of this now. He gave the leash a firm pull and, with a grunt, the human fell forward at his feet.

Isaac recognized him, but at the same time, he didn’t.

This person could not be Hector.

He had the same silver hair, but it was longer, tangled, and dirty. 

He had the same tanned skin, but lighter from lack of sun, lack of blood. And marred not only by those telltale scars around his genital area, but an impossible number of scuffs and bruises that coated the entirety of his fully exposed body.

He had the same blue eyes, but heavy with untold suffering, brimming with frightened tears, and just a little afraid to meet his own. After a few silent seconds, he cast them aside fully.

He was the same, but there was no way he was Hector.

He could not kill him.

Isaac held the leash in one hand. His dagger in the other. Hector was defenseless and it would have been so simple.

Yet, somehow, Isaac could not bring himself to do it. He sheathed his weapon.

Hector heard the sound and looked back up, confusion written all over his face. His leash was yanked again, and his hands shot to his throat.

“Get to your feet. We are leaving this wretched place.”

“You aren’t going to kill me?” Hector spoke in a voice that rasped from dehydration and pained him with the lingering rawness of his screams. Even he couldn’t tell if he was begging.

“Even though you may want me to, no.”

Hector had no response to that. He wobbled to his feet, weak in the knees and opting to keep his arms close for modesty rather than out for balance.

Isaac led him from the cell, leash still in hand. Hector moves tentatively, but Isaac surprised both Hector and himself with his patience.

“Where is your hammer?” Isaac inquired with a pointed tone.

“Guards’ chambers,” Hector mumbled, hardly able to form the words. Isaac began to lead the way there, and Hector limped after. In the softest whisper, he made a tearful confession.

“I spent so many nights dreaming you would rescue me.”

Isaac stopped walking. He looked to the shadow that stood sharing the body of his former colleague. He gently reached for Hector’s face, and Hector let him. Isaac’s cold, brown eyes bored into those of his old not-quite-friend.

“You are not being rescued,” Isaac clarified, and witnessed Hector’s heart shatter with the widening of his eyes. “Your ownership is merely changing hands.” He pulled the leash again, making Hector gasp. But he made no more protest. He understood perfectly. 

He understood that he deserved this.

Isaac stepped outside the castle keep. What remained of his army followed behind. Hector tried to hide behind his fellow human, his face reddening with whatever blood he had left in him. 

Though Isaac sadistically enjoyed tormenting his deserving new forgemaster, he knew that fostering a hate where there used to be something close to camaraderie would be immensely counterproductive. He faced Hector, removed the cloak from his shoulders, and wrapped it over his new companion instead, who grasped at it and pulled it tight around himself with an immense, palpable gratitude.

Isaac mentally ordered one of his winged creatures to scout ahead and attempt to lead them to the nearest town, but he did not deign to tell Hector where they were going. He simply led him forward. 

Hector cast a final glance at Carmilla’s castle. No matter the circumstances, he was glad to be rid of that cruel mistress. Isaac pulled him onward. His plans were mysterious, therefore frightening, but if it got him away from Styria, Hector was more than willing to keep pace.

He had always needed him. And now they were united.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this is what my brain went to after watching the s3 trailer and reading in the description “Isaac seeks out Hector.” Could it have been more ambiguous?  
> Anyway, I’m hoping to complete this short little fan theory of a fic before the season comes out, but I’m also happy with this as a stand-alone, if that doesn’t pan out.  
> Let me know what you think, though! I welcome your insights.^^


	2. Let Me Down So Tenderly

Seven.

There were seven prisoners in Carmilla’s dungeons.

Isaac contemplated the first man he killed. His face was weathered and worn from a life of hardship that had plagued him long before his days as livestock. His clothes were utilitarian, meant for heavy use, yet still worn. His neck, one large, massive scar comprised of many smaller bites throughout his capture. It had been a torturous existence for the poor soul. But he was freed now.

The whip landed heavy on Isaac’s back. The familiar ache washed over him, body and mind. This was what was right.

The second prisoner was an utterly emaciated older woman. Perhaps recently drained. But Isaac doubted she had been a good meal. She must have been on death’s door already, even before Isaac pushed her across that threshold.

The whip fell again, slicing through the image in his mind of that woman’s glazed over, half awake expression. She was no longer present in this world, anyway. He had delivered her. Given her mercy.

The third one had been tortured. He was half clothed, wearing only a shirt which was torn in places and stained with blood. He had been castrated. Knowing what he knew of Carmilla, Isaac believed some form of justice had been dealt to that man.

As he tore through his flesh a third time, Isaac dwelled upon the thought that his causing the death of that individual may have been merciful to more people than just the man he had killed.

The fourth and fifth were sharing a cell. Two young men, early into their twenties by the looks of them, if not still teenagers. They were naked and they were scarred, signs that both had been taken by force. The two had held fast to each other as Isaac opened their cell, but neither tried to protect the other or themselves. They knew what was coming.

Isaac swung the whip twice, striking the same space on his back and causing an involuntary hiss through his grit teeth. In a world without love, what those two had could never have lasted. Pain or death, by the hands of their fellow humans, would have taken care of their affections in time. Isaac cast his eyes upward toward his armies and saw two of his new night creatures standing shoulder to shoulder amongst his ranks. Here, only here, they could remain together, side by side under a noble cause. A righteous cause.

The sixth, Isaac hadn’t expected. A pale skinned woman, bearing similar marks to the two naked men, was waiting in the next of the cages. With the way Carmilla had spoken about the lack of women in Dracula’s court, he believed she would have been a bit more merciful toward her own sex. But perhaps her hunger had gotten the better of her, or perhaps she did not see herself as having anything in common with a human woman. She had thrown her to the wolves like all the other humans.

He struck himself again. There were times when he did not think vampires, as a species, were much better than the humans. The one who decidedly was, Lord Dracula, had likely been finished off by now, leaving nothing but corruption in his wake. But Isaac had priorities. Once all the humans were converted into members of his loyal army, he could begin an assault on the lesser evil.

Then there was the seventh. Hector.

Isaac closed his eyes and swung the whip heavily across his shoulders. 

He could not erase the image of Hector’s frightened expression as the man stared up at him from the floor. Or his heartbreak at being told the reality of his situation.

He struck again.

“I spent so many nights dreaming you would rescue me.”

What was that supposed to mean? Hector’s will had clearly been crushed. He had made no attempt to beg for his life. So how could his idealism have remained intact throughout his ordeal?

He struck harder. 

He must have been through hell. He bore more intimate scarring than any of his fellow prisoners, save for the man who had actually been castrated. Carmilla and her soldiers clearly had their way with him whenever they desired, and put him in no position to refuse. It was disgusting. It was vile. It was unforgivable.

Isaac let the whip fall once more.

He questioned his thinking. Why was it so wrong for Hector to have suffered as he did? Hector had betrayed Lord Dracula. He had directly contributed to his downfall. Whatever punishment he suffered, up to and including death, should appear just to Dracula’s most loyal servant. And yet it didn’t.

Isaac grit his teeth and added a renewed vigor to his self-flagellation. Those sorts of thoughts had to be purged from him. Even after Dracula’s death, Isaac could not afford to be disloyal to him, for that could spark disloyalty to his cause. If that were to happen, Isaac would be no better than the many humans he had slain.

The blood ran steaming hot down his back. He focused his thoughts to the pain alone. There was nothing other.

“Isaac?”

A meek voice nearly broke through his haze, but it did not quite succeed. Isaac continued the whipping.

“... Isaac?”

This time, a little louder. Isaac let the whip fall down to his side, but did not open his eyes.

“What do you want, Hector?”

“When you finish... I was wondering if you would let me try.”

That got Isaac’s attention. His eyes flicked open, and he looked over his shoulder at his fellow forgemaster. Hector had been seated behind him, still wrapped tightly in Isaac’s cloak, and now refusing to meet the other man’s gaze.

“You wish to whip yourself? Why?”

Hector’s grip tightened on the cloak. “You do it because the physical pain clears your mind of all the other pain you’ve suffered and witnessed... Right...? I... I want that.”

Isaac smirked. “Assuming you are correct in your judgement— Which you are not— What makes you think you have earned that? What makes you think you are capable of reaching that state?”

Hector’s cheeks reddened, making Isaac’s cruel smirk only deepen. “I... I did not know it was something to be earned.”

“I would be handing my captive a weapon he could attempt to use against me.” Isaac turned more to better face the other human. “Of course such a right must be earned. But you did not answer the second question.”

“What is it about my capacity that you doubt...?”

Isaac tilted his head to the side. “I do not think you would do it.”

Hector’s brow furrowed. “I would not have asked if I did not think I would do it.”

Suddenly, Isaac stood to his feet, causing Hector to balk, wondering if he had somehow gone too far. Then Isaac knelt in front of him and he was sure of it. His blue eyes were wide with fear and searching all of Isaac for any sign of a looming threat. 

Isaac’s fingers traced the leather band of his collar, triggering an involuntary gulp and halting Hector’s breath. He took Hector’s blistered, calloused hand in his own and pressed the handle of the whip into it, curling Hector’s fingers over it and keeping his own hand atop that fist. With Isaac’s other hand, he pushed back the cloak from poor, paralyzed Hector’s shoulders, baring his back for the whipping Hector claimed to desire.

“Try it, then,” Isaac encouraged, his free hand tracing down to grasp at Hector’s leash. He pulled the man close, enjoying his ability to abuse this privilege, enjoying the ways in which he could taunt him for his disloyalty. Hector gasped and began to tremble.

Isaac leaned in painfully close and began to speak in a threatening whisper.

“Try it, Hector, if you think you will not feel the spikes tearing into your skin and be reminded of vampiric claws piercing you where you were far more vulnerable. Do it, if you think my watching over you and ensuring you do not kill yourself in the process will not remind you of Carmilla, who I am certain did the same. If you think the weight of your many sins can be absolved by such an action, then strike yourself, Hector. If you still believe you are capable.”

Hector’s breaths were coming in shuddering gasps. With a defeated grunt, he dropped the whip and turned his face away. Isaac laughed, a near mirthless sound, as he gathered the whip and moved away from Hector, releasing his leash. Immediately, the wounded forgemaster pulled back, holding his cloak even tighter and visibly shaking in terror. He gnawed at his lip so hard, Isaac began to wonder if he intended to draw blood from there instead.

Isaac donned his shirt, indulging in the familiar feeling of letting it stick to his bloodstained back, anticipating the pain he would feel again later as he pulled the fabric free again. He strolled over to Hector’s side and sat next to him as he started a fire with his dagger and a little pile of wood his creatures had gathered. He knew the proximity bothered his old colleague. He could hear it in the barely-bitten-off whimpers falling from Hector’s reddened lips.

He smirked again. “Will you cry, Hector?”

Hector glared at him. The look surprised Isaac. After that display, he didn’t think Hector would be capable of defiance.

“I will not. You will mock me for it.”

But his voice wavered as if he still might, and Isaac could hear it. He sighed.

“I will not mock the way in which you wish to deal with all that you have been put through. It is why I handed you my whip. I will not mock you, but I do not sympathize.”

“... Don’t you?” Hector asked softly, his eyes already swimming with tears. “You haven’t suffered similarly...?”

Isaac’s eyes widened before he returned Hector’s questions with a glare.

“You would be wise not to compare our suffering any further.”

Hector did not respond and Isaac did not elaborate. He tried not to dwell on Hector’s words. If he did, he might have to tear his back open again, which would be dangerous in the oncoming cold of the night.

He caught Hector crying a few times while he cooked, ate, and shared the small animals the night creatures had brought them for dinner. As he promised, he did not say a word about it.

Isaac looked heavenward at the full moon. It was a clear night, and Isaac should have had a clear mind to match, but thanks to Hector’s words, Isaac’s mind had become unpredictably cloudy.

How could Hector have dared to use his slavery as a tool against him? How could he have dared to think that their experiences were the same? Isaac had been innocent. He had been a child. Hector had played his cards wrong and chosen his own terrible fate. Isaac had been punished unjustly, but Hector had deserved the tortures he had received. He had practically asked for them.

But then Isaac thought of the prominent rope burns on Hector’s wrists and ankles and knew that the man had never asked for any of it. He was forced through it. He too, was innocent. He, too, had been a child, even if not in body. He, too, had known nothing of the world, and then had to face the harshest parts of it.

Damn it. Was Hector right?

Isaac felt something touch his shoulder and his head whipped to the side to get a look at the perceived threat. He was greeted by the up-close sight of Hector’s fluffy silver hair. He tilted his head down and saw that the forgemaster was fast asleep and his head had lolled onto Isaac’s shoulder. 

He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to move Hector. He wanted to let his head fall. He wanted to let him fall and hit the ground. He wanted to let him fall forward and hit the fire. He wanted to hold his head against his shoulder, draw his dagger, and slit his throat.

That would prove him wrong. That would prove that they were not similar.

Isaac drew his dagger. Slitting Hector’s throat would be the right thing to do. It was what he should have done back when he found Hector in Carmilla’s dungeons. He should have done it before he sullied Isaac’s pure mind so much with his idiotic musings.

He still had a chance. It would be so simple. He pressed the blade beneath Hector’s jaw. The sleeping man stirred just slightly, a little whimper falling past his parted lips, but he did not wake.

Isaac gripped the dagger, pulled it back further, and wreathed it with red flames. Watching them flicker and light up Hector’s skin, though, he remembered the reason why he had taken him in the first place. He wanted another forgemaster. He needed his armies to grow more quickly. He still had use for Hector. It would be a shame to kill him so soon.

He let the fires flicker out and slowly lowered the dagger. Using his other hand, he stroked Hector’s hair with a gentle touch. The boy hummed contentedly and further melted into Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac began to see why Carmilla had wanted this man for a pet. Perhaps under Isaac’s control, though, it would be better for everyone if he was kept muzzled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac- “I should've left you on that street corner where you were standing.”  
> Hector- “But you didn’t!”  
> ^ basically this whole fic in a nutshell. xD  
> Welp, let me know how you like this chapter! I’m still hoping to finish this up before (checks watch) THURSDAY, so my little fan theory will be completed before the actual show comes out and possibly dashes it against the rocks. So let me know how you think this little passion project is going, what you like and what you think is unclear/should be improved.  
> Thanks! Love you guys!


	3. Burn the Night Away

God, Hector cried so often these days. It was getting damn annoying.

At least he didn’t argue anymore, or muse stupidly about their perceived similarities. He had tried once more to do something similar, but Isaac quickly seized the boy’s face, palm over his mouth and fingers gripping his bruised cheeks until they ached, rendering him instantly silent. With one simple command, he had silenced the forgemaster for hours. Perhaps he wouldn’t need that muzzle after all.

He cried over the simplest shit, too. Early in their travels, Hector had actually stopped walking in order to console himself. Isaac was predictably concerned. Perhaps his companion had taken an injury or was falling ill. Both things could impact their future travels. But no, Hector had refused to move because he had found a particularly pleasant spot of sunlight and was crying because he had missed the feeling of standing in the sun so much. On some level, Isaac could understand the sentiment. But they had all day to walk through the sun. That spot was nothing special. He pulled Hector’s leash and dragged him onwards.

And the pitiful thing even cried in his sleep. It was keeping Isaac up at night and, honestly, it wasn’t doing wonders for Hector’s health either. Thankfully, a good elbow in the ribs would wake Isaac’s campmate and provide Isaac himself with a few more moments of silence. He wished Hector was healthy and capable enough to sleep far away from him. Instead, they had to share body heat throughout the chilly, early spring nights. He had learned too much about Hector that way.

He cried a name when he slept. “Lenore.” Isaac knew of no such person. But the way Hector said it— sometimes whimpering, sometimes moaning— Isaac had a good idea what she did to him. 

And now today, Isaac had awoken to a small, sticky spot between them, staining the ground and Isaac’s nice cloak. Isaac hadn’t struck Hector before that moment, but that day, he slapped the man awake. Hector had looked up at him with so much pain and confusion that Isaac almost held back his words. Almost.

“Disgusting. Go to the stream. Wash my cloak and get ahold of yourself. And do not dare run back to Lenore, or I will find you and deliver that whipping you so desired.”

Hector then left crying and came back shivering. What an infuriating man. He didn’t know how lucky he was that Isaac needed him for his forging.

He had promised him new clothes, warm clothes, when they got to the village, and there it was on the horizon. It was very small. The perfect size. 

Isaac smirked. He could feel it already, the thrill of killing the entire helpless town. And with Hector in tow, he could halve the time it took to add the fallen to his ranks.

The forgemaster stopped at the peak of the hill, his forces gathered behind them. He took one last look at the peaceful state of his new conquest.

“Besiege them,” he ordered aloud, and hundreds of roaring, hissing, thundering night creatures rushed past their master with one thing in mind: destruction.

“Wait...!” Isaac felt a gentle hand grip his left bicep. He turned his head and regarded Hector with his brows lifted, a little amused by the worry on his face.

“Do not tell me you have suddenly grown sympathetic, Hector.”

“I... I...” Hector stammered, searching for the right words that would help him plead his case.

“You have made so many night creatures, for Lord Dracula and for Carmilla, and sent them out to do the same bidding.”

“Well, yes, but...”

“But it is another thing entirely to watch it happen. Isn’t it?”

Hector lowered his eyes and then gently closed them, wordlessly admitting how correct Isaac was in his assessment. Isaac chuckled. He took Hector’s leash in his far hand, and wrapped the arm closest to his traveling companion around the man’s shoulders, holding him fast.

“Watch, Hector.” Isaac ordered, and he obeyed, reopening his sorrowful blue eyes. “Mine are graceful creatures. They have perfected the kill. Weren’t you always talking about desiring a merciful war? Here is your mercy. Listen. They do not even have time to finish their screams. It is that swift. Far more merciful than letting them continue in their suffering at the hands of other humans. But perhaps after all that time serving in the war not of your own volition, you have grown soft. Maybe even grown to hate the war.” Isaac leaned in closer to speak softly into Hector’s ear.

“But I know what the humans have done to you. Do not forget the necessity of it all. Your place is beside me, serving Lord Dracula, even in his death.”

Hector shuddered with the proximity. Isaac felt that he had tested the man’s limits enough for the time being, and released his shoulders. A lone, bloodstained night creature approached from the ruins of a silent village, and Isaac knew it was done. He tugged at the leash. 

“Come. Let us find you something to wear that isn’t my cloak.”

After many minutes of searching through the bodies, it was Isaac who eventually found a laborer with a similar broad build to Hector’s whose clothes he could steal. He carried the body inside the nearest house, ignoring the mutilated family within. There, he stripped the corpse and graciously offered the bloodied garments to Hector. The pants were too dark for the blood to be immediately noticeable, but the pale grey shirt was a different beast altogether. Without any real choice, Hector donned it anyway and kept looking around for a coat or tunic, something that could hide at least some of the blood.

“You are worried about the bloodstains,” Isaac noted, dragging the naked body onto the table. “I wouldn’t be. With those scars and that collar, I could simply say I saved you from being taken prisoner by the vampires who raided this town. You are the lone surviving villager.”

“And people will just believe that you battled a vampire to rescue me?”

“I did battle a vampire to rescue you, did I not?”

“Well... Yes, but... No, because you’ve made it very clear it wasn’t a rescue. And my point was that saying you battled a vampire might make you more of a target. People with that sort of power are rare. And not well liked.”

“In areas such as these, I am generally not well liked, anyway. Besides, I have all night to perfect a story. And you have work to do.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” Isaac gestured behind Hector, who jumped to see one of Isaac’s creatures offering him his hammer. Stunned, he took it, and turned back to Isaac. Tentatively, he walked closer to him and the nearby table which bore the body whose clothes he had taken.

“I have never taken the time to watch how you do it,” Isaac remarked in a tone almost friendly. He knew better than to come across as threatening to a frightened captive who bore a weapon. He held out an open hand and gestured to the body. “Show me,” he invited.

With a steadying breath, Hector gathered his magic and channeled it into the weapon. The blue fire lit up Hector’s features in an unearthly way, making Isaac glad for the very first time that he had taken ownership of the man, for it was a truly beautiful sight. Hector lifted the hammer high. Isaac’s eyes followed, intent and ready to study. He brought the hammer down.

And he dropped it to the ground, where it landed with a dull thud and the instant dissipation of flames.

“I can’t do it.” Hector put a hand to his mouth, choking back sobs.

Isaac’s anger flared. He had been so close. 

“What do you mean, you can’t do it?”

“I can’t... I... This war has gone on long enough, Isaac, and I can’t...!” 

His words trailed off. Isaac strode toward him with an ominous aura. The first time he had struck Hector, he had meant to do no lingering harm. This time, Isaac’s fist clenched, and he desired nothing more than to finally reward all of Hector’s idiocy with the pain he deserved, the pain he had earned.

But as Hector meekly raised his hands to shield his face, Isaac heard his old colleague’s voice pierce through his mind once again.

“Haven’t you suffered similarly?”

He held back the blow he was moments away from delivering. Damn those words. Damn this man. Damn him for making him remember his own childhood pleas for deliverance from the wrath of a cruel master.

This had to stop. He could not win Hector’s powers and he could not win his loyalty by behaving like another merciless slaver. He lowered his hand and let out his breath. 

“The bed is there.” Isaac pointed to it, rubbing his temple with the other hand. “Rest. I will do all the work for both of us.”

Hector obeyed. Isaac sounded very frustrated, and he did not want to test the man’s patience any further. He slept as Isaac turned every villager with his usual quick, effortless manner. By the time he had finished, though, evening had fallen, and Hector’s borrowed bed was beginning to look quite comfortable. He lifted the covers and slid in beside him.

The silver headed forgemaster awoke with a little groan. “Thank you...” He breathed. “You’re warm.”

“I am. Too much so. From doing your work for you.”

Hector had no response to that. 

“And... You spent much of the day in a cold, wet garment. You may be desiring heat to make up for that time.”

“I... I am sorry about that.”

Isaac sighed. “You could not have helped it. I am sorry for reacting as I did. I just really liked that cloak.”

Hector snorted. He looked over at Isaac with a little smile. It was the first one he had seen from him since the day they had walked through the sunlit forest together, still under Dracula’s reign.

“What?” Isaac inquired.

“I know that you don’t joke, but you can still be rather funny at times.”

Isaac looked to the ceiling, unsure of how to take that remark.

“Who is Lenore?” He asked instead, changing the topic.

Immediately, Hector’s smile disappeared. “How do you even know about her?”

“You cry her name as you sleep. I find it to be very disturbing.”

Hector remained silent for a long time. “She... She acted like she loved me,” he finally admitted, his voice catching on some of his words as they tripped past his tongue. “Or, at least, what I assumed love to be. She called me good. She would pet my hair... Kiss me... She had sex with me. And sometimes it didn’t hurt.”

“But sometimes it did,” Isaac mentioned, picking up on the oscillating tone of Hector’s voice, and the conflicting feelings it carried.

“Sometimes it did.” Hector repeated.

Isaac sat up, leaning on his elbow and looking down at Hector. “You miss her.”

Hector bit his lip. He held back a verbal response, but he nodded, and a tear fell down his cheek.

“I know I shouldn’t,” he whimpered.

Isaac tilted his head, regarding his companion in this weakened state. It was a familiar helplessness, albeit a distant one.

“It is not something you can help.” He reached out a hand toward Hector’s face and wiped away his tears before placing a hand over his eyes.

“Back to sleep, now. I am tired of being awake with you.”

“Right.”

Isaac released Hector and turned away from him as he settled into the bed. 

“But, Hector?” He spoke again, a little louder, to ensure he would hear. “Love is not a painful thing. When you miss her again, it may help to know that.”

“...Thank you.”

Isaac had a few blessed hours of uninterrupted sleep after that, and inside an actual shelter, for which he was grateful. But still, he was awoken by Hector’s godawful moaning. He scowled and rolled over to get a good look at the man before he would elbow him awake again. Then Hector spoke again, and the forgemaster was entirely stunned by what he heard.

Not “Lenore.”

“Isaac.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, some of that was painful to write. >.< Hector is my personal favorite. I don’t like to see him suffer.  
> Lenore is the name of the redheaded vampire in the trailer, in case that wasn’t apparent by context.  
> But, yeah! Things are heating up a little in this chapter. Falling into place, I think. Let me know what you think of the way things are going, what you like and dislike, the usual.  
> One last chapter to go! And just a few more days to go, too, before it all goes down for real in s3! Are you excited? I’m excited!


	4. Doom Days

The ability to domesticate was not a skill Isaac knew he possessed. But he welcomed it into his arsenal all the same.

It was simple, really. Despite all that Hector had suffered, he had not changed much from Isaac’s original impression of him. He was simple, gentle, childish. Despite everything, he still had purity to him. And that made him easy.

Life was falling into a pattern again, for the first time since Isaac had been separated from Lord Dracula. Hector may not have been able to lend Isaac his skills, but he lent him his predictability, and with that, Isaac’s war was becoming a little bit easier.

When the mornings came, the two would awake in the same bed. 

Isaac had come to learn that if he held Hector fast instead of elbowing his ribs, he could soothe the man and soon have him calling out “Isaac” in his sleep rather than “Lenore.” Isaac found that fascinating, how he had come to replace someone Hector still held some feelings for. He had never even touched the man, though he sometimes felt the desire to. But he had touched himself imagining what Hector dreamt about as he unknowingly called out his name. Perhaps, one day, he would be able to touch his fellow forgemaster without sparking panic within him. Until then, Isaac was more than willing to wait.

After leaving whatever shelter they had— sometimes a camp, sometimes a recently abandoned house— they would travel. 

It came with great reluctance on his part, but an even greater reward, when Isaac finally decided to remove Hector’s collar. Of course, he couldn’t help but do so by using his dagger to cut the leather free, extracting terrified but desperate whimpers from Hector’s lips. He had cried afterwards, but Isaac had predicted such an action, and tried his best not to be annoyed. What did surprise him, though, was the grateful embrace he had received from the man.

“She’s really gone,” Hector had mumbled tearfully into his shoulder, and Isaac did not know for certain to which “she” he was referring, but he assured the man that his sentiment was true nonetheless.

With that collar gone, their hikes had become slower, but more entertaining. Hector had always enjoyed a bond with nature greater than that of his colleague, but his recent captivity seemed to only increase that aspect of him. He ran his fingers against the bark of nearby trees, savored the smell of the air, and always, always, basked in the heat of the sun. Isaac’s eyes always lingered on the beautiful smile Hector bore as the man carried himself through what seemed like no less than his natural habitat.

During the nights, Isaac left it to Hector to cook. He was not as skilled as Isaac himself, but his creations were not wholly inedible, and Isaac was most often too busy forging new night creatures to be bothered with their meals.

Hector refused to watch Isaac as he worked. He claimed he no longer had the stomach for it. Isaac hadn’t believed him until he happened to forge in the presence of the other and the man promptly vomited. He, too, had never before seen his colleague forge, and had been totally caught unawares by the sheer violence of Isaac’s methods. Isaac then had to take care of his companion throughout the night. It had been a costly mistake, one Isaac didn’t care to repeat. He kept his work away from the other. 

Hector also never touched his hammer again. And yet, Isaac had kept it anyway. He had a plan for it.

He liked that Hector didn’t ask him questions anymore, or intentionally get in his way. Whether it was fear or perhaps a more tender emotion that kept him from doing so, Isaac didn’t care. It suited his needs well, especially for this plan of his.

“It is a large town. I need to go down there myself to ensure the battle goes as I wish,” he told Hector before leaving.

“... Be safe down there. Do not let yourself be killed.” Hector crossed his arms over his chest, his favorite gesture of self-reassurance.

“Don’t worry. I cannot afford to leave you by yourself. I will come back. You have my word.” Isaac took him by the wrist and delivered a swift kiss to his cheek. Hector’s eyes shot wide open at the gesture. He gaped, searching for anything to say.

Isaac smirked. “I decided I wouldn’t ask you this time. Last time I desired the same, you determined I was joking.”

“... Benedictine monks,” was all Hector could stammer out.

“Stay still and keep yourself safe.” Isaac chuckled before departing for the town.

Simple, gentle, and childish. Just as Isaac knew he was. A little kindness went so far with Hector. He had no leash, and still he followed after Isaac, just like a puppy. Except, of course, when his master ordered him to stay.

It was entirely unnecessary for Isaac to enter the fray personally. He knew his hordes were more than capable of destroying the entire area on their own. No, he was down here for something specific, something that might escape the notice of his night creatures.

“Bring down walls. Cause as much destruction as possible.” He specified to the armies of chaos that surrounded him as he strode, unharmed, through the falling city. It was imperative that this looked like an accident.

It took far too many moments of searching to find what he was looking for, and even then, it was only second rate. An alley cat had wound up crushed by rubble. Isaac sighed and pried the small body free. He knew Hector was more of a dog person, but this would have to do. He called a night creature to his side.

“Place this in the main path of the city and gather fallen stones around it. Somewhere Hector will be sure to see it.”

Hector had seen it immediately when Isaac led him through the wreckage of the city, toward the promise of shelter. It was as if his eyes were specially trained to seek such things. He darted toward the perfectly arranged pile of rubble that Isaac had set up for him. And he asked the question Isaac knew he would.

“Isaac, where is my hammer?”

A dark joy bubbled up inside the old general, and he called forth the night creature that he had tasked with guarding it.

“I am certain I cannot stop you from doing this. But, please, do not tax yourself trying,” he had insisted, his tone full of convincing concern.

Indeed, Hector could not be stopped, and despite his lack of recent practice, the cat was up and living again within moments. It purred at Hector and went instantly to his open arms, causing the man to cry tears of joy.

And with that, the man who had sworn off forging was on the path to becoming the helper Isaac needed him to be. He just didn’t know it yet. 

This was acceptable to Isaac. He knew that Hector was worth waiting for, in body, mind, power, and spirit. Soon, every aspect of that man would belong to him, and he would be unstoppable. They would remedy the world together.

After their brief rest in the city, Isaac decided it would be best to have some of his creatures set it on fire, as a message to the rest of the world. Hector did not look at it. Isaac could not look at anything but Hector, lit from behind by the flames, clutching his resurrected feline, staring into the distance with sorrow that was veiled only thinly.

Dracula had been right to try to push the two of them together. Isaac could see it only now. When he was focused only upon the death, the war had felt more and more hollow. He needed Hector. He needed a reason to bring this pure world into being. Someone to share it with.

He had always needed him. 

Isaac could finally see that. 

And now Isaac had him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who gave me their support! I am so grateful for all of you! ^^  
> I know this chapter is a little short, but I felt like it tied up all the ends it needed to. Isaac won. At least for the purposes of this fic, Isaac won. In every way he wanted to. That’s the summary, I think. xD Up to you to decide if that is a good thing or not.  
> S3 is breathing down all of our necks right now, ready to bite! I hope this has helped to make the waiting a little more bearable! Personally, I have already taken the liberty of buying myself comfort food, my favorite flavor of vitamin water, and a stuffed kitty to help me through the new season. xD I hope you people out there will take just as good care of yourselves if you are as sensitive as me! ^^”  
> Once again, I have loved writing and sharing this with you. Thank you for returning my love by giving this a read!


End file.
